


What to Buy for Valentines Day After the End of the World

by gemmawolf



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: M/M, Post-Apocalypse, Post-Nuclear War, Sexy Times
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-20
Updated: 2015-02-20
Packaged: 2018-03-13 21:06:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3396323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gemmawolf/pseuds/gemmawolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fallout AU. Arthur, Alfred and Francis are the ideal team, roaming the Capital Wasteland for whatever scraps of the pre-war world they can salvage for bottlecaps. Alfred is secretly smitten with Arthur, and a couple of unlikely finds in an abandoned building inspire him to take action at long last. E for smut, chems, booze and men in lingerie. For usuk sweethearts week 2015.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What to Buy for Valentines Day After the End of the World

**Author's Note:**

> Read it, fall in love with the universe, and you will be rewarded with porn at the end I promise. :')

There wasn't much else to do in the irradiated wastes but to talk. The sun stretched across the sky, a bright and burning oppressor that sapped them of water and energy. They'd spent the last week scavenging the ruins of a small town, and hoped to come across a ramshackle settlement on their long walk back to DC, but no such luck. They were down to their last few precious bottles of water and dry goods to carry them through several days of travelling. Far off in the distance, behind the glare of the sun and the dusty haze of the wasteland, the Washington Monument rose up above the debris of the devastated city, defiant. Alfred kept his eyes fixed on it the whole time. They were getting closer, there was no doubt about that, but their progress was achingly slow. The plan was to return to Megaton, caps in hand, ready to repair and upgrade their weapons, and slip into the heart of the city through the metro stations to avoid as many Super Mutants as possible. It was growing less and less likely though that he would meet his fate battling some hulking green monstrosity, and more likely he would shrivel up in the desert and be picked clean by mole rats.

He tried to take his mind off their circumstance by listening to Francis' story. Francis was a ghoul. He'd been around before the Great War, so he claimed, working as a scientist for RobCo after fleeing the crumbling European Commonwealth. From how he dispatched the occasional Robobrain and Protectrons they'd stumbled across he assumed he was exceptional in his field, and just as well - humans didn't much like interracting with him anymore, so the cold metal and mathematical, emotionless minds of computers were much friendlier to him. He and Arthur had been friends for years before Alfred met the two of them; they'd been slaves to some caravaneer, made to walk ahead and act as decoy or bait while the guards kept close to the pack of Brahmin. When they camped outside a town they were given whatever scraps of food were necessary to keep their hearts beating, and made to sleep furthest from the fire so they absorbed less of the precious heat in the cold, barren nights. They weren't the only slaves marching with the band of caravans, which made it easier for them to escape when there was a revolt. Francis, with his innate senses and relationship with technology, managed to disarm both of their bomb collars and run. They wandered the wastes ever since, never staying too long in one place lest the slavers from Paradise Falls catch their scent. Though that seemed unavoidable; he stunk of rotting meat, especially in the midday sun. The ghoul's skin was patchy, not from healed burns and sores, but from where it spontaneously peeled or rubbed off. His hands were raw and bore no prints, his nose was gone. A few clumps of golden hair clung to his thinning scalp. The Frenchman often lamented the loss of his beauty, speaking of a thick head of shoulder length hair, shiny and rose-scented from frequent washes, unlike Alfred and Arthur's matted bird nests. His lips used to be pink and moist, and popular with the ladies apparently. Now they were broken and chewed up and peeling, stretched tight across his face and barely moving when he spoke.

"She was a real sight," he rasped, waving a decayed arm about. Alfred wasn't sure how he'd survived so long by moving around so much. "Big, dark eyes. Long, chocolate hair, all the way down to her waist. Golden Mediterranean skin! Her father wouldn't allow us to marry, so we met up in secret and did the forbidden deed to spite him."

"Lalala! I don't want to think about it!" Arthur called to them, covering an ear with his hand; the other was occupied with a pistol as he brought up the rear as a guard.

Francis stopped and turned to him with a smirk, his facial muscles visibly straining to pull the expression. "You're just jealous that someone as ugly as me has managed to get some action in their life," he croaked. Arthur waved his loaded gun at him.

"Can it, zombie."

"Fuck you too, smoothskin."

Alfred just laughed; it hurt though, his throat having dried up hours ago. "Come on, guys, let's keep walking," he coughed and pulled the bandanna tighter at the back of his head. His head was too hot with the baseball cap on, but he needed it shade his bespectacled eyes. The lenses were dusty and chipped around the corners; he had better pairs in his bag if he really needed to change them, but this pair was his favourite. They had belonged to Jonas.

He sighed at the memory of finding the scientist's, his friend's, body strewn across the floor of the vault laboratory, the alarms blaring and security and radroaches alike spreading throughout the underground corridors. Whatever his father was up to had caused deaths. He could only trust that it was worth it. He looked intently at the Washington Monument once more, desperate to be back within range of Galaxy News Radio. Not only was it more upbeat and entertaining than the endless drone from President John Henry Eden that emitted from the Pip-Boy on his left arm, but the host, Three Dog, had met his father. He was the next logical step in tracking him down.

"You guys ever been in a vault?" he asked his companions.

"I was signed up to one back home in Baltimore before the Great War," Francis replied. "Showed up to every one of the damn drills - and there were a lot of them! But I was working in DC the day the bombs fell." He shrugged. "Oops."

"There was one near where I grew up," Arthur huffed. He stayed closer now, probably bored of hanging at the back on his own. "Like, really near by. We used to bang on the door, but no one replied, at least not while I was there. Probably all dead inside."

"I wish you could see it, Art," Alfred said with a smile. "Clean clothes, food dispensers, purified water. I never knew I had it so good."

"Then why did you leave?"

"It's not like I had a choice," he grumbled, and kicked at some small stones on the ground.

The other man chuckled and bumped his shoulder. "Yeah, I know that feeling."

"You do?"

He nodded. "I was wandering the wasteland on my sixteenth birthday, armed with a switchblade and my own fists. Took me almost a week to reach Big Town, I kept getting lost."

"A week?" Alfred said in disbelief. "How did you survive a week on your own out here?"

"Small miracles. A dead mole rat here, a radioactive pond of muddy water there. It's amazing what you can put up with to survive. Francy-pants is living proof that." He sent the ghoul a sly grin. "Well, when I say living..."

" _Manger mon cul_ , eyebrows."

\---

Later that afternoon they saw a cluster of pre-war buildings off to the south, and veered towards it for some shade and a place to catch up on sleep. Almost all were nothing but collapsed walls and rubble, but there was a convenience store still standing, as well as a gas station, which they tried first. Nothing came out of the taps in the bathrooms, and even the toilets were bone dry, so they loaded up on unopened bottles of Nuka Cola lying in the bottom of a broken vending machine. Other than that the station had been picked clean, so they crossed over to the shop. Once Arthur took care of the nest of radroaches, a waste of bullets, he said, they took to sacking the shelves. It was incredible just how much stuff was still edible after two centuries; Francis said that the food was pumped full of additives and other chemicals so that people wouldn't have to worry about things going off, and wouldn't have to run to the store every week if they simply filled their pantries to bursting. The thought of a room packed full of pork'n'beans and instant mash would have had Alfred drooling if not for the dehydration.

While he reached for tins to fill his rucksack with, he watched Arthur through the gaps in the shelves. While gaunt and quickly angered, he was soft in appearances, at least for the wasteland. He tried to keep his hair free from knots, combing through it with his fingers whenever they stopped for the night despite it being a hopeless endeavor. His eyes were green, a rare colour in the harsh desert of the wasteland; they were positively radioactive, Alfred was certain that they glowed, or at least sparkled. He was pale, and burned easily in the sun; he'd once told him that he grew up in a cave in near pitch-blackness, whereas even Vault 101 had shone white light and ultraviolet to mimic sunlight, earning Alfred a skin that tanned quite contently. After a few bad sunburns he'd taken to wearing armour that covered his shoulders and arms as much as possible. The leather clung to his form and protected him from bites, slashes and laser burns, which Alfred was thankful for. He dreaded the inevitable day when the older man would catch a bullet; if he didn't bleed out and die he would have to sit through the agony of a stimpak stitching his flesh back together, either working the shell out or burying it forever. But Arthur knew how to take care of himself. He could track, always the first to tell when an enemy was near, and he could take apart a gun then rearrange it into a new one in minutes. He knew what to keep on his person and what to drop when his bag became too heavy. He knew how to suck out radscorpion venom without ingesting it, how to disarm a trap in a dark tunnel. Arthur benefited nothing by staying in this trio; he was just loyal.

The man in question was sifting through a smashed freezer on the floor. "Hey, there's bottles in here!" he announced. Francis joined his side to help pick out all the bottles of clean, crystal water. Alfred moved to the end of the aisle to go help, when a box on the shelf caught his eye. Under a faded yellow sign reading 'DISCOUNT! MUST GO!' were various items, many of them battered or broken and clearly off by the smell of it. But stood at the back against the wall, peeking over the other containers, was a pink box in the shape of a heart, a purple ribbon wrapped around it. After checking over his shoulder to make sure his companions were distracted, he grabbed it and stuffed it in his bag, covering it with boxes of sugar bombs and deviled eggs before he went over to take his share.

"This place is untouched," Arthur mused as he struggled to fasten his bag for all the supplies inside. "Or it was, until we arrived. We should stop here for a couple of days, there's no way we're going to carry all this."

"Sure, let's check upstairs too," Alfred said, walking to a door reading 'staff only'. "There might be a bed intact. Beats sleeping on a hard floor."

Francis agreed to keep watch for raiders and wildlife, and the two of them navigated the back rooms in search of a staircase to the upper floor. They found it, though a few of the wooden steps had broken away, and carefully made their way up.

The upper floor was comprised of a couple of bedrooms and a joined bathroom on which the roof had caved in. Beyond that though it was perfectly preserved, including the skeleton in the bathtub. Arthur stayed close to his side; he always grew uneasy around the bodies of pre-war folk. He said it was the way they didn't see it coming, how they remained frozen in their last moments, either terrified or blissfully unaware of the mushroom clouds dotting the world. He'd heard him talk quietly to Francis about it, asking if it hurt. Those who were vaporised were the lucky ones, it happened so fast, he explained. But the shockwaves collapsed buildings and ruptured organs leading to a slow, agonising release from existence. If you avoided both the heat and the over pressure, well, there was no escaping the radiation that flooded the remains of the USA. Long term exposure resulted in people like Francis, and the suffering and prejudice that came with it.

Alfred closed the bathroom door; they wouldn't be needing it with all the water they'd just happened across. The smaller of the bedrooms contained a wardrobe and a rusted and therefore useless bedframe, but the mattress could be salvaged for a few nights of comfortable sleep. Beyond that the room had nothing of worth, and they decided it would be better to store their supplies up here where raiders and critters were less likely to invade.

At the other end of the hall was a room with a double bed; the frame wasn't corroded too badly, as it held both of them jumping up and down on the mattress like children. There were even some tattered sheets and blankets underneath, so they wouldn't have to keep a fire going all night, which would be dangerous and draw attention. A couple of knick-knacks scattered about were of some value, enough for a few caps, and to top it off Arthur found a stash of 9mm bullets for his prized pistol. The best find though, in Alfred's opinion, was the sexy langirie they came across in the cabinet. The lush red silk of the bra and thong had kept well in the dry darkness, and there were even two - no, three - pairs of stocking to go with it. Arthur whistled. "Moriarty would give his left ball for something like this," he joked, even removing a few boxes of food to make room for the find. "Fifty caps? A hundred?"

"I'll squeeze two-hundred outa' him, minimum," he replied; Alfred handled most of the haggling in their little band of wanderers, seeing as he had a way with people. Besides, he wouldn't accept anything less for the outfit since he'd much rather see Arthur in it. The mental image of him on his back on the bed, black stocking midway up his thighs, toned from nonstop hiking; the thought of him only just managing to tuck himself into the front of the panties, the sight of his perky little ass (and he knew, he'd been looking at it for a while now) being accentuated by that strip of fabric between his cheeks; he had to calm himself down after only a few seconds, tempted to go back to the bathroom and stare into the empty sockets of the skeleton if it would prevent a very obvious erection appearing in the crotch of his Vault 101 jumpsuit. He'd never been interested in sex at home. No one appealed to him, though perhaps that was to do with the enforcement of male/female relationships to keep the population up. It was only once he was out roaming the wasteland, after he met the salvager and the ghoul, after he listened to Francis about one of his more 'adventurous' exploits, that he realised he could be attracted to other guys. One look at Arthur and it clicked into place as to why he was so desperate to follow him town to town, raider camp to metro tunnel, and effectively give up his quest on finding his father.

On their return to the shop floor Francis waved them over from behind the counter and pulled back a rug to reveal a safe in the floor. Alfred had a stick of dynamite out before you could shout 'jackpot', but Arthur ordered him away and fished in his pocket for a bobby pin. He lay on the floor, one ear pressed against the metal door, and twizzled the makeshift pick back and forth.

"What you think's in there?" Alfred asked Francis, but was shushed by the man on the floor.

"If I jam this lock up Alfred, I'll hand you over to the Super Mutants myself," he growled. After a couple of minutes he grinned, and the door popped open with a click. It took two of them to haul the sheet of metal open. The vault dweller wasn't sure what they expected to find - fancy weapons, precious jewels, a stash of rad-away - but they were severely disappointed.

He dropped to the floor with a thud. "Old-world money?" he sighed. "Really?"

"Makes sense I suppose," Arthur grumbled.

"Quit your sulking," the scientist wheezed, "it's worth something at least, unlike you two smoothskins."

"Suck a dick, Francis."

\---

They made their stop in Megaton, trading their salvage for bottlecaps and storing the excess of food and water in Alfred's house. He rarely stayed there for more than a day, enough to relax and let his guard down for a few hours, get some rest, before continuing on. He made sure to stop in at the Craterside Supply and let Moira know that yes, her mole rat repellent worked, it worked very well indeed by _blowing up their heads_. The young woman was terribly upset to think she'd hurt the 'poor', 'innocent', 'little' rodents, but she gave him his promised payment of jet and psycho, which he pocketed quickly; he didn't need chem addicts sniffing about and mugging him.

Francis chose to spend his free time at Moriarty's Saloon, chatting with Gob, a fellow ghoul. Alfred thought the whole place was overpriced, but the owner had a monopoly going of 'booze an' poon' as he put it, so there wasn't much else for the guy to do. He and Arthur were worried someone would take aim at their friend, but he promised he'd be on his guard with one hand on his plasma pistol at all times. With him out and about, it left them alone to lounge around in the bolted-together tin can that was Alfred's house.

He didn't have anywhere near enough caps to pay for furnishings. To his name he had a bed, desk, a fridge, a couple of lockers, and a Mr Handy mark II.

"Who the hell calls a robot fucking Wadsworth?" was all Arthur had to say on the matter as he sat on the bottom step.

"Aw, c'mon Artie, he's awesome. Hey Wadsworth, give us a joke."

The robot spun in the air to face them. Arthur eyed the buzz saw and flamethrower warily; he didn't like robots. He didn't like anything that resisted bullets. "War does not determine who is _right_ ; only who is _left_ ," the robot announced in a deadpan tone.

While Alfred giggled at the joke (even though he'd heard it before), Arthur just rolled his eyes and took sip of vodka from his bottle. With nothing else to do they'd broken open the younger man's stash of alcohol, and grew less inhibited with every swig. His head buzzed from the need for water and needless spirits, his movements poorly coordinated. After a couple of hours of sharing stories of raider kills and close encounters with feral ghouls (a subject off-topic with their friend around) they were trying to get one up on the other; it started with an 'accidental' brush up the inner thigh, which was returned by a game of 'I bet I can get you hard before you can get me hard'. Alfred's tactics were direct to say the least, groping at that gorgeous ass and whispering filthy idea's into the survivalist's ear. He pushed Arthur to breaking point and eventually the other man tackled him into a kiss, tongue hungry and demanding in his mouth. Fingers raked through his hair and a zealous hand began to rub between his legs, and he moaned so loud he wondered if everyone in town heard it echo off the walls of his house.

"Arthur," he murmured against his lips, the other not letting up for a second. "Arthur- _fuck!_ Bed. Now."

Arthur gave an approving hum and pulled away. "Sounds fantastic," he purred, and dashed up the stairs. Alfred scrambled to his feet and eagerly followed. He managed to get to the bedroom without tripping over his own feet somehow and maneuvered Arthur over lean against the locker next to his bed, kissing his face, his neck. The other man drawled something with a pleasant gasp and began to strip down, shedding the leather armour from his shoulder and kicking it away. They moved their hips together, legs entwined, and moaned at the friction. Arthur removed his t-shirt and threw it out of the way, giving Alfred access to his chest; he ducked down and licked up his sternum, stopping to suck and bite at his clavicle until the skin bloomed red and Arthur was begging him to hurry up. He paused his ministrations for a minute to unzip his jumpsuit and step out of it, his boots getting caught in the ankles. After battling with the laces he kicked them off too and turned his attention to Arthur's belt and pants. Soon they were just in their underwear, and that was removed at lightning speed so they could just touch one another. The contact of skin flared Alfred's nerves and he shivered, both from the cold and the arousal coursing through him. "I want you to do something for me," he said, and was surprised at how deep and husky his tone had become.

"What?" Arthur asked, though he wondered if he was paying much attention; he was to busy mauling Alfred's throat, sucking and scraping with his teeth.

He whined when Alfred had him move away, but it was so he could reach into the locker at the side of the bed; the doors were scratched and dented, and didn't actually lock. He removed his hand and brought the silk panties and fine stockings with it. "You didn't sell it?" Arthur said, confused judging by the way his brow furrowed.

"I want to see you in them."

Arthur looked up at him, eyes wide.

Alfred held out the garments, biting his lip. "Please?" he begged. He needed to see this so bad.

The other man snatched the clothes out of his hand with a drunken laugh. "Fuck, why not? You live once. Turn around."

He did as he was told and listened intently for the slightest clue of what was happening; there as a lot of curses and grumbling, and an elastic snap accompanied by a sharp yelp. He pictured the finished look, indulging himself in a few strokes of his standing cock until Arthur said he could look.

"Fuck that's hot," he breathed, and closed the gap between them to kiss the other man once more, his hands everywhere. He hooked a finger under the hip of the thong and followed it round to the back to rub at the soft flesh just above his lover's ass. He kissed him greedily as his other hand pinched at a firm, pale cheek and brought out gasps and mewls from its owner. Arthur took his revenge by squeezing his member almost painfully, but damn, the feeling of having someone else touch him so intimately was more stunning than a laser beam. He got the message though and ceased the abuse of the other's ass, and pulled back to admire the stockings and front of the sexy underwear. Arthur's legs were skinny, but the dim light shone off the sheer fabric in a way that highlighted the curve of his calves, the relative thickness of his thighs. He only just fitted into the thong at the front, erection straining against the material, the flushed head poking out the top. When he brushed his thumb across it Arthur dug his nails into his back with a sharp intake of breath.

"Damn it Alfred, let me take this stuff off and we can get on with it," he barked, struggling to hold back moans as he kept up the attention to his head.

"What if this is the last time I see you in it?" he whispered into his ear, and palmed the hot member through the silk. "I wanna remember every detail."

"I'll wear it again some other time," came the growled response.

"Promise?"

"Promise!"

He led him over to the bed, and eased him onto the mattress and sat between his parted legs. Arthur held his hips up to pull the thong down and Alfred dove in to assist him, licking his lips when his swollen dick was freed from its silky restraints. He didn't bother to wait until the panties were completely off, merely strung between his ankles, when he moved up the bed to engulf his hard member in his mouth. He'd never done anything like this before, but had a vague idea from some heavily guarded holotapes some of the other boys in the Vault had insisted he watch. He did what he thought he'd enjoy had he been the recipient, sucking and licking fervently as Arthur writhed in his hands. If the fisted hands tangled in his hair and the keening moans were anything to go by, the ex-slave seemed to be enjoying himself. "Pleeease, Alfreddd," he whined and tried to rock his hips despite being pinned down. "Fuck me!"

Alfred released him with an amorous growl and immediately began to tease his entrance with one finger. But when he probed at him Arthur hissed, "You need something for lube, idiot."

"Oh. Like what?"

The bright and prim voice of Wadsworth crackled from the doorway suddenly. "I can provide you with mechanical lubricant, sir," it informed them, raising it's flame-thrower appendage and squirting out a few drops of oily liquid.

" _Fuck_ no! Man, get outa' here!" Alfred cried out. The robot pivoted on the spot and hovered back out of the room, muttering to itself about only trying to help.

While his boner flagged from the intrusion, Arthur was in hysterics. "Ok, I admit it," he snorted, and reached down the bed to ruffle his hair, "your robot's hilarious."

"Glad you find it funny," he grumbled. "I think there's some petroleum jelly under the bed."

"Long, lonely nights in Megaton?"

"Shut up." He found the small tin on the floor; there was also a half-empty bottle of rum which he passed to Arthur to take a few gulps in order to both numb the pain and make them giddy again. He took a swig himself; the stuff burned but the aftertaste was sweet, a rarity for food and drink these days. It pushed him back over the threshold of drunken stupor after a few minutes, allowing them to carelessly explore and woship each others bodies. It seemed Arthur had done this before - he didn't ask who with or under what circumstances - and he guided him through lubing up and stretching him, though Alfred felt he rushed in his eagerness and worried about hurting him. Eventually Arthur refused to wait any longer and told Alfred to pass him his pants off the floor.

"I've got Jet somewhere in here," he said as he rifled through his pockets. Alfred sent him a hard stare, but he just brushed it off. "Everyone does it, Alfred. You will too one day."

"I'm good thanks."

He shrugged, and pulled a small red canister from the garment. It had a small mouthpiece to assist inhalation. "Fine, but you don't know what you're missing. Now get started already. I'll take a puff when it starts hurting."

He hesitated for a moment, but his own aching erection and hazed mind assured him it was fine; he did as he was told and pushed himself inside his lover, eliciting a cry from the man below him. The telltale spray of the Jet canister was all he needed to know that it hurt, but in fairness he'd warned him. He would have felt guilty and asked if he wanted to stop, but Arthur cut him off by leaning up and grabbing his face into an animalistic kiss. "Yes! Alfred, Yes! Fuck me!" he shouted, deafening the poor vault citizen. But the way he tugged at his lip with his teeth, how he yanked his hair and clenched his insides around him dragged him into a mindless rhythm of pistoning hips and dirty talk. He called Arthur his bitch, a good-for nothing slut, and he just took it so long as he _kept going_. Alfred's fringe stuck flat to his forehead, their skin slick with sweat from the exertion; he'd never felt a heat like this before, not even in the baking expanse of the Capital Wasteland. He wasn't sure if he could enjoy anything else for the rest of his life because this felt _so fucking good_.

Between Arthur's high and Alfred's inexperience, it was a few minutes at most until they both came. Alfred's body jarred with the shockwaves of pleasure that pulsed through his nerves as he poured himself into him, desperately struggling for more friction, more tightness, until the buzz of climax was gone and he couldn't hold himself up any longer and collapsed onto Arthur, breathless. He closed his eyes and listened to his lover's breathing, counting how many times his chest rose and fell. The strong beat of his heart thudding against his ear was so comforting that he almost fell asleep, if not for Arthur sitting up and forcing him to do the same.

The older man groaned and rubbed his temples. "I'm going to regret the drink in the morning," he mumbled. Alfred passed him a bottle of water and he chugged it down. He threw the empty thing aside and rested his head on Alfred's shoulder, smiling. "That was good," he said. "First time?"

"The alcohol helps," he chuckled in reply. They really should have cleaned themselves up, their abdomens and stomach covered in Arthur's release, but right now they were inebriated and riding a dopamine high, hands held tight. He could forget that hideously mutated creatures roamed the land, that there was a bomb sat smack bang in the centre of town, that probably everyone from DC to the Hub had overheard their activities. He picked up Arthur's legs one by one and pulled off the stockings, making sure to plant an affectionate kiss on each knee. He carefully folded the garments and returned them to the locker, swapping them for the heart-shaped box.

"What's this?" Arthur asked as he pressed it into his hands.

"You know what the date is? February 14th. In the old world it was a day where people celebrated their love, or at least that's what my Pip-Boy said. People got each other presents like wine and chocolate and, well, I found this and kept it for you." He looked away. "It's stupid, I know."

Arthur hooked a finger under his chin and made him turn to look him in the face. "It's lovely," he corrected him with a chaste kiss on the lips. "Thank you."

"So you gonna open them or what?"

They both grinned as Arthur pulled the ribbon loose, the pair of them practically shaking with excitement at the prospect of chocolate. But when they removed the lid all they found was one massive block of sugar-stained brown, melted and reset by two centuries worth of wasteland summers. It wasn't inedible, but it was far from the pre-war delicacy they had been expecting.

Arthur set the box aside with a laugh and returned to his place on Alfred's shoulder. "Never mind. I've got something better, and much harder to find in the wasteland."

Alfred frowned. "What?"

"Love, idiot. Love."

**Author's Note:**

> I LOVE the Fallout series. If I could have a fictional universe's child we would already have two, maybe three children. I plan to do a proper fic for this, as well as Bethesda's TES: Oblivion. This is roughly what the boys would be like (including Francis) but aside from the main quest in Fallout 3, I'm not sure what the overall plot would be. Also I'm too scared to play some quests because feral ghouls freak the hell out of me! XD
> 
> Francis' background it prett much all there. If you've played Fallout 3 you'll know about Little Lamplight and Vault 101, so that explains Artie and Al, respectively. Though they verbally abuse one another all day long, Francis and Arthur are inseparable after their shared experience as slaves. The trio is a brilliant team because Francis specialises in computers, energy weapons and robitics; Arthur fixes up their gear and knows where to look for supplies, and is an incredible shot with old-world weaponry. He's also good with sneaking about, surveying areas ahead and tactical planning. Then there's Alfred. Growing up in a Vault means he's good with people, since he's spent all day every day around them. He's charismatic and calculating and can get better deals and past doors that they normally wouldn't. He's also brave (though reckless) and genuinely wants to help others, which probably comes from being raised by a doctor/researcher.  
> As for any other characters, well, I've yet to slot them into the landscape of the wasteland.
> 
> I really, really want to expand on this AU. Once 'Worth It' is finished and I've got some more of 'Twelve Months' written up I think I'll indulge myself. Thanks for reading! I hope you liked it. :) xxxxx
> 
> PS: And if you've not played Fallout 3 and New Vegas - DO IT. I love them better than The Elder Scrolls, and that's saying something!


End file.
